Act One: Some Kind of Monster
by Fuzzy Elf
Summary: TNA fic. First in a trilogy. Chris Sabin's war with Kevin Nash was no coincidence, but Alex Shelley's scheming goes far deeper than all but two people suspect. And they have plans of their own for the former Xchamp from Hell, Michigan.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story is kayfabe canon up until Hard Justice 2006. Anything that has transpired since that point will have little to no effect on the events here. It just happens to be a very creepy coincidence that certain happenings currently in TNA are similar to what I planned out two months earlier…

* * *

Act One

Some Kind of Monster

Everything hurt.

Physically, he was drained; mentally, he was exhausted. Every movement caused pain and every joint ached even when still. When he gathered his strength to lift his arm high enough to rub his neck and shoulder he couldn't help but wince at the agony a mere touch brought, so tight were his muscles.

Jerry Lynn had told him to get some sleep, but that was the last thing on Chris Sabin's mind tonight. By all rights he shouldn't have had the energy to walk, let alone go for the half-hour jog after the excruciating workout Lynn had put him through. But there were too many thoughts in his head at the moment, and every time he had closed his eyes, his imagination had played out scenario after scenario until he'd gotten fed up and decided to get some air.

He'd taken his ipod but it had done no good; his thoughts were so loud and persistent that they had drowned out the music. Eventually he had admitted defeat, and now sat alone on a park bench, staring into the dark nothing but seeing so much more.

Kevin Nash and Alex Shelley and all their ridiculous mind games had gotten into his head – and the worst part was that he knew it but could do nothing about it. With every step he took he was replaying past encounters; with every breath he was repeating what had been said; with every passing second he was considering possible outcomes to their next confrontation. Lynn had taken it upon himself to prepare him for that moment, but, while he was still very young, Sabin had been around long enough to recognize that his greatest obstacle was all in his head.

Sabin had never been one to play mind games. He was strong, fast and brutal when he needed to be, and had always been able to rely on these skills in the ring. It wasn't as though he couldn't be provoked – especially by Petey Williams, alongside whom he had trained and broken into the sport – but nothing compared to the reaction that Nash and Shelley were causing.

They were making him doubt himself.

Alex Shelley was talented, to be sure, but up until recently had been considered little more than a devious, self-serving miscreant of the X-Division; he was a man with a tentative few allies (most of whom were associated with the Planet Jarrett super-stable) and even fewer friends. When Shelley had won the right to compete on Team USA in the 2006 World X Cup at the Sacrifice pay-per-view together with himself, Jay Lethal and Sonjay Dutt, Sabin had at first been skeptical – sentiments that were shared by anyone concerned with the tournament. But, as captain of the team, Sabin had urged the others (and himself) to give Shelley a chance.

The first snag had come in an exhibition match against Team Canada. Having been doing some scouting of the other squads, captain Petey Williams and his teammates had wisely used their past ties to Shelley to both lure him into a false sense of security and add to the mistrust already brewing within Team USA. Shelley had refused to take part and actively attack those he believed to be his allies. When Shelley had finally been forced to get involved, however, Team Canada had had no problem attacking _him_, harshly reminding him that, in the tournament, their alliance with him did not exist.

And, contrary to the vast majority of expectations, Shelley had well learned the lesson and became a contributing member of the team in several matches after that. But the mistrust was still there and had been especially evident in Dutt, who had seemed entirely unable to give Shelley the benefit of the doubt.

Then Shelley had dropped a bombshell. In his continuing endeavor to capture exclusive footage of ground-breaking company news (or so he said; mainly his work was used for blackmail and humiliation, at that point having targeted Jackie Gayda, Sting and then-NWA World Heavyweight Champion Christian Cage), he had managed a one-on-one interview with the ever-controversial Kevin Nash. Shelley had shown the interview to his teammates under the pretence of warning them of Nash's pending return, for the big man had gone on record saying that he was out to destroy the X-Division.

And on May 18th, Nash had made good on his promise, appearing in the _Impact Zone_, after Sabin had defeated Williams in the World X Cup tiebreaker final, and blindsiding him. He'd left him bloodied and beaten for all to see after a Jackknife Powerbomb and then had stepped back to admire his handiwork as Lethal, Dutt, Shelley and Jerry Lynn, the X-Division icon who had appointed Sabin as captain, rushed to the ring. But Shelley had shown his true colours that night; with an uncaring farewell to his now-former teammates, he'd coolly strolled up the entrance ramp and placed himself solidly beside Nash.

The betrayal had been hard to swallow, coming as it had at a time when many were praising Shelley for learning to be part of a team. But it was the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of Nash that Sabin found impossible to ignore. That was why, two weeks later, he had run out to rescue Lethal from the duo's post-match beat-down and challenged Nash to a match at the next pay-per-view: Slammiversary.

That was when things had gone from bad to worse. Before, Sabin had been merely a faceless X-Division athlete to Nash; now, he had become a personal conquest. The mind games had begun and they had recruited Johnny Devine into their stable, solidifying their genuine threat to the X-Division and allowing them another angle from which to attack.

Sabin had started looking over his shoulder in parking lots at that point – as Nash and Shelley had taken particular interest in watching Sabin's matches and studying his abilities – wondering (or was it fearing?) when the scouting would turn into a late-night curb-stomping. There was no two ways about it: they'd had him well and truly spooked, and when Slammiversary had ended, Nash had a win over Sabin.

That was when the initial seed of doubt had been planted, but Sabin had refused to back down and had requested another match at Victory Road from TNA Management Director Jim Cornette. This time, he and Lethal would take on Nash and Shelley, and even with Devine at ringside they had managed to score a win. The victory had been bittersweet; Sabin's shaky self-confidence had made him wonder if he could only beat Nash with backup present. Maybe he really _couldn't_ stand up to the big man one-on-one. Maybe, just maybe, size really did matter.

And now Nash had set up the rubber match at Hard Justice with Cornette and the stakes were higher than ever: the winner would receive an X-Division title shot. This was why Jerry Lynn had decided to prepare Sabin just as Shelley and Devine were training Nash in their trademark technical and high-flying style (not that he was adapting well, but that was another story entirely). If Nash was to win this match, it would not only be a mockery of the entire X-Division, but it could give him enough momentum to overcome the current champion, completing his mission to destroy everything the X-athletes had built.

To say that Sabin was feeling the pressure would be somewhat of an understatement. It was eating away at him and tonight he sat on his own, staring into the black sky, seeking even a moment of blissful solace.

"Nice night."

Sabin's ears perked up at the voice but he kept his eyes forward, not wanting to acknowledge the presence that had disturbed him from the trance that had been so close to clearing his mind. _Damn you_, he thought bitterly and considered putting his earphones back in to indicate his desire to be alone. There was something about the voice, however, that he recognized but could not place.

"Little late for you to be out, isn't it? I thought you X-Div guys called it at nine after a brisk jog and a round of _Halo_."

Sabin snorted. Alex Shelley had suggested as much in his most recent 'Paparazzi Productions' video. He'd even gone so far as to say that he was the only member interested in girls.

"Not everything Shelley says is true, you know," he said.

"But a lot of it is – or just true enough to screw you over. Especially if he catches you on camera. I oughtta know."

Sabin didn't answer, hoping the visitor would take the hint and leave him alone. He'd figured out by now who was behind the voice and had no interest in continuing the conversation. Unfortunately he would have no such luck; the person sat down next to him on the bench. He mentally scolded himself for not stretching across it to further discourage any company.

"What do you want?" he said resignedly, knowing that he would not be left alone until the other had said her piece.

Jackie Gayda smiled. "Not very friendly, are you?" Sabin started to leave and she changed tactics. "Jerry Lynn can't help you, you know."

"Neither can you," Sabin replied easily, putting his earphones back in.

"True," she conceded. "But I know somebody who can."

"I don't care," he said gruffly, forcing her hand. It was far too late and he was in no mood for playing games. If she had something to say, she was going to have to get to the point – otherwise he was prepared to walk. Watching her out of the corner of his eye as he zipped up his light jacket, he could see that she knew it.

"You can't sleep can you?" she tried again.

"I'm out jogging at four in the morning – what was your first clue?"

"You're exhausted and you lie in bed but you toss and turn because you can't shut off your brain," she continued, undaunted. "And when you finally do drift off, your dreams are so vivid that they might as well be real. He's in your head and you can't stop thinking about him."

"It's you who has the problem with Shelley, Jackie," Sabin shrugged. "Don't project your insomnia on me."

"I didn't say anything about Shelley."

Sabin blinked, replaying the conversation thus far in his head. "You implied…from before…"

"Okay," Jackie said, an enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"It's Nash I'm concerned about," Sabin returned a little too quickly.

"Okay," Jackie repeated, the one word being enough to completely confuse Sabin. His over-tired mind tried unsuccessfully to make sense of what had just happened in that short conversation and why Jackie now looked so smug over his misinterpretation of her words. She waited just long enough for him to be visibly annoyed before she stood up in one smooth motion.

"You've got more talent in your baby toe than most guys could ever hope to have, but your full potential is still far from being realized," she said boldly. "Your head's in the wrong place, Sweetie, and like I said before, Jerry Lynn can't help you get it where you need it to be. We can."

Sabin caught the strange glimmer in her eyes and suddenly felt very uncomfortable in her presence. Hastily excusing himself, he turned on his music and had to force himself to walk, and not run, away from the park. Jackie watched him go, smiling.

"What do you think?" Raven asked her, coming out of the shadows to where she stood. "Will he come to us?"

Jackie laughed. "Are you kidding? Everything I told him, he was already thinking – or trying _not _to think. He'll practically come running once he admits that it's all true."

Raven allowed a sadistic smile to crack his hard features. "Magnificent."

* * *

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Sabin dragged himself into the gym only a couple of hours later. There were dark circles under his eyes and he slowly sipped from a cup of hot coffee, desperate as he was for a caffeine fix. His short, spiky hair was disheveled and he walked with short, deliberate steps so as not to fall over. In fact, if Jerry Lynn hadn't known him better, he'd have sworn that the kid was severely hung over, if not still drunk.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" he got right to the point, to which Sabin shook his head once. After his impromptu meeting with Jackie Gayda, he'd gone back to the hotel to try for a couple hours rest, but had ended up tossing and turning, his head more full than ever.

Lynn stood with his arms crossed, carefully scrutinizing the young man who, for years now, he had put his faith in to uphold the legacy of the X-Division that he had helped create. Lynn had considered himself somewhat of a surrogate father to Sabin, seeing something special in the kid long before anyone else had. Sabin had the kind of enthusiasm, aggression, and eagerness to learn that had never ceased to impress him. And it bothered him now to see him like this.

He also knew Sabin well enough to know that going easy on him was not going to solve anything. The kid had never liked to be treated specially, outright hating the idea of receiving a free ride. He had always pushed himself to be the best and to prove that as fact to everybody else. The problem was, these days, in this feud with Nash, Sabin seemed to be trying extra hard (clearly now needing to prove it to himself as well), and it was taking its toll.

Lynn chose his words carefully. "Am I not working you hard enough, kid, that you're not tired enough to sleep after a session?"

Sabin met Lynn's searching gaze, his blue eyes bloodshot but still surprisingly sharp and aware, and considered the question. "No," he answered finally. "I need to learn more."

Lynn nodded gruffly. "All right, then. Hit the heavy bag; today we work on your striking and dodging. Nash will try to lure you into a brawl and you need to know how to counter and avoid it."

Sabin said nothing and started toward the designated area. He could feel Lynn watching him, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His mind was playing games on him again, making him second guess his words. What exactly had he meant by his response to his mentor? He'd thought at the time that he wanted Lynn to work him harder, to prepare him for every possible scenario in his upcoming match. But now he was remembering Jackie's warning that Jerry Lynn – the 'X-Division Pioneer,' as he was so often dubbed – could not help him. Had he subconsciously meant that he 'needed to learn more' than Lynn was capable of teaching him?

Frustrated by these ever-present conflicting thoughts, Sabin dove into his workout, hoping that, with the adrenaline flowing, everything would somehow become clearer.

It didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

Alex Shelley looked hard into his own dark eyes in the reflection in the bathroom mirror. To the uninformed bystander, it may have appeared that he had actually entered into an absurd staring contest with himself. In reality, Shelley was studying his facial expression, mastering the art of masking his thoughts by hiding the telltale glimmer of sheer genius in his eyes. His face now reflected the blissful ignorance of an unquestioning minion, eyes glazed with a dull stupidity.

"Shelley, you handsome devil, you truly are something else," he laughed and gleefully slapped the sink, breaking character after he was certain he had the look perfected. "They'll be eating out of the palm of your hand."

Certain events had been set in motion at Sacrifice, and the Sabin-Nash match tonight was a pivotal moment in an extremely complex plan. It was up to him to ensure that everything went smoothly, and he was prepared to do anything to keep it that way.

The bathroom door swung open and Shelley forced his face back into its mask of ignorance, though he needn't have bothered.

"It's cool, man, it's just me," Johnny Devine held up his hand in assurance, checking over his shoulder to make certain that he hadn't been followed before letting the door shut behind him.

"Doesn't hurt to be prepared," Shelley said, relaxing. "Especially when _someone_ refuses to use the secret knock."

"Sorry, dude," Devine shrugged with a boyish grin. "I keep forgetting it."

"I'm just busting your chops," Shelley said with his trademark smirk. "Is everything set?"

"Big Kev's good to go, and I was spying on Sabin getting a prep talk from Jerry Lynn – dude looks white as a ghost," Devine laughed.

"If he cracks up, let's hope he does it in the ring so I can get it on camera," Shelley replied, only half-serious. "Okay, it's on like Donkey Kong – and remember: no matter what happens, stick to the plan."

* * *

"They make it so easy sometimes, don't they?"

"The inevitable gay jokes?"

"Well, that too."

Raven and Jackie sat perched in the rafters of the building's open ceiling, watching as Shelley and Devine exited the washroom and casually made their way to the entrance tunnel to rendezvous with Kevin Nash. Raven shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm referring to our dim-witted duo's ill-conceived attempt at secrecy, however," he continued. "Johnny Devine slinking around backstage, continually looking over his shoulder in a blatant effort not to be followed. Thus, what is the next logical step?"

"We follow him," Jackie smiled.

"Precisely," Raven nodded. "And to nobody's surprise, he meets with Alex Shelley – in the _bathroom_, no less. Of all the ludicrous places to hold a private conversation, they choose the one room where absolutely any imbecile could waltz in, unannounced, and discover them. But I digress – while it may seem perfectly normal for Devine to seek out his partner, there is one very clear anomaly: he is doing so behind Nash's back. And since, for weeks, the two of them have been playing the roles of the star-struck pawns, fawning over Nash's every word and move, we can only conclude by this turn of events that-?"

"It's all an act," Jackie answered correctly again.

"And a convincing one, at that," Raven acknowledged her response with the slightest tilt of his head, "but nevertheless, just as we suspected." He stopped and considered this new information for a moment, rubbing his chin, and then a wicked grin spread across his face and he chuckled under his breath. "It's going to be so much fun enlightening my young soon-to-be protégé to these kind of revelations – the sort of secret knowledge that creates an unspoken bond of respect amongst the few true masterminds in this business. I wonder if any more of them suspect Shelley."

"Or if any are on to your plans for Sabin."

Raven scoffed loudly. "Impossible. No matter how observant or clever they consider themselves to be, you know very well that _every_ last one of them is still a mere puppet in my demented funhouse."

By now, Shelley and Devine were long out of sight and their steel girder roost vibrated as Sabin's entrance music blasted throughout the building. Raven's eyes twinkled as he got to his feet, motioning for Jackie to follow suit.

"That's our cue. I've reserved us a spot on the catwalk above the ring. Best seats in the house to watch the slaughter."

* * *

_Keep hitting him. As long as he's still standing, you've got to keep hitting him. Target the knees to chop him down and don't let him get a hold of you. You'll lose in a close-quarters brawl, so use your head and your speed and just keep hitting him._

Lynn's training lectures had become Sabin's internal monologue and he repeated the instructions over and over to maintain a trance-like focus. The hit-and-run tactics were working thus far; Nash had yet to connect with any effective power moves. And by talking to himself, he was successfully tuning out Shelley and Devine's seemingly endless arsenal of biting sarcastic remarks.

_Keep hitting him_.

Sabin rebounded off the ropes and flew at Nash with incredible quickness, leaping into the air and driving an elbow into Nash's jawbone. With both members of the Paparazzi throwing fits at ringside, Nash stumbled backward but did not fall.

_As long as he's still standing, you've got to keep hitting him._

Sabin wasted no time and followed up with a perfectly executed enzuiguri. As his foot connected with the back of Nash's head with a sickening smack, he heard the big man grunt in pain as his senses were momentarily scrambled. But he was still on his feet.

_Target the knees to chop him down and don't let him get a hold of you_.

As Nash clambered to the turnbuckle to steady himself, Sabin backed into the opposite corner and took a running start at his opponent. Nash didn't see him coming until it was too late and both of Sabin's feet smashed into his kneecap with his patented Hesitation Dropkick. 'Big Kev' cried out in pain and finally dropped to one knee, hugging the one that had just been punished.

Then Sabin made his first mistake; seeing the other man downed, he foolishly abandoned his strategy and closed in to drive closed-fist shots into Nash's forehead. Enraged, Nash reached up and wrapped both hands around Sabin's throat, stood and carried him out to the middle of the ring. Sabin's eyes bulged as his legs dangled uselessly and he clawed at his captor's vice-like grip. Nash turned and effortlessly tossed him back into the turnbuckle like a human shot-put.

_You'll lose in a close-quarters brawl, so use your head and your speed and just keep hitting him._

Sabin blinked hard and shook his head in an effort to clear the proverbial cobwebs and then scrambled out of the corner just as Nash came barreling at him like a runaway freight train. The big man rammed head-first into the turnbuckle and Sabin used the resulting momentary daze to scale the adjacent corner and land a missile dropkick between Nash's shoulder blades. In an attempt to capitalize on his building momentum, Sabin climbed outside the ropes and waited for Nash to unwittingly stagger into position before launching his body into a springboard cross-body press.

This was Sabin's second mistake. Nash, while winded, was still too aware and too strong, and the high-risk maneuver played right into his hands. He easily caught Sabin in mid-air, hoisted him above his head, and then simply let go and stepped out of the way as Sabin dropped the nine-plus feet to the mat. The landing took the air from his lungs and he was unable to move out of the way in time to avoid the follow-up elbow drop that smashed into the base of his skull.

Sabin rolled over, clutching the back of his head, and beyond the black spots that had appeared in front of his eyes he could see Nash arrogantly slapping high-fives with Shelley and Devine. He blinked hard for the second time that night, trying to clear his blurry vision, and when he opened them again his attention was caught by movement in the rafters above the ring. Jackie was sitting there with Raven, both of them leaning forward, watching intently. Jackie wore a look that mixed sincere regret with an 'I-told-you-so' smugness, but Raven's face was unreadable.

His eyes, however, were another matter entirely.

Aside from the ever-present psychotic intensity, Raven's eyes conveyed a sense of urgency, and even from this distance Sabin could detect the gleam within that seemed to serve as a message. Sabin stared, transfixed, and the sounds of the match and the crowd and everything else melted away; what was Raven trying to tell him?

A sharp pain brought him back to reality and Sabin clenched his teeth as Nash, who believed that he now had the match all-but won, hauled him to his feet by his hair. But a fresh flame had been kindled inside Sabin in that brief connection with Raven, and he lashed out with a flurry of solid kicks to the stomach, breaking Nash's grip and doubling him over. Burning with renewed determination, Sabin went to rebound off the ropes for another crippling dropkick to Nash's knees.

It was his final, critical mistake. So focused was he on the man inside the ring that he momentarily forgot about the men outside the ring. As Sabin hit the ropes, Shelley nonchalantly reached out and grabbed his ankle, tripping him. As Sabin wheeled around to retaliate, Shelley jumped back out of reach, innocently holding his hands in the air.

Scowling, Sabin ran at Nash again, but Shelley's distraction had been enough to allow his ally to regain his senses. Nash lifted his foot in the air and drove the heel of his boot into the soft cartilage of Sabin's nose.

Hot blood gushed down his face as Sabin crashed hard back to the mat, his head bouncing like a basketball. The black spots returned and refused to clear, and in his daze Sabin could not find a way to fight back as Nash dragged him up again by one arm, nearly tearing the shoulder out of its socket.

The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion as he first saw the mat and then the rafters, closer than they should have been. Time stopped there, and from his vantage point on Nash's shoulders he could make out the blurry figure of Jerry Lynn standing at the top of the entrance ramp. The disappointment practically radiated from him.

Then time sped up again, now moving lightning-fast, and Sabin had no chance to catch his breath before he was lifted up an extra foot and then sent plummeting back down. He barely heard the referee making the almost-unnecessary three-count as he caught one last fuzzy glimpse of Raven and Jackie's darkening forms disappearing from the catwalk before losing consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where am I?"

"Jerry! He's coming around again!"

"I swear, man, next time I see Shelley, I'm punching his teeth down his throat."

"Get in line."

"This isn't a playground rumble by the flagpole, boys. I don't want either of you giving Nash or Shelley a reason to target you."

"But the guy _seriously_ needs his face rearranged, Jerry!"

"And do you really want to end up with your brains scrambled too? There's no point in thinning our ranks by letting them pick us off one by one! Do you hear me?"

The response was mumbled.

"I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that."

"Yes, sir."

The voices were recognizable enough as Jerry Lynn, Sonjay Dutt and Jay Lethal, but Sabin had long since lost the thread of the conversation. His primary concern was that, no matter how hard he tried, his eyes seemingly refused to open. Panic set in and he reached up to touch his face, but instead found something cold and hard.

"Hold on, kid," Jerry's voice said, uncharacteristically soft, and then the cold object was lifted away to allow harsh light into his eyes. But even now they wouldn't fully open, caught in a painful squint.

"Holy shit," Lethal gaped at him.

"What?" Sabin asked groggily, his head beginning to throb at the base of his skull.

Dutt, who was leaning against the wall, arms tightly folded, grunted. "Must be one bitch of a concussion if you don't remember Nash liquefying your nose with his boot. Your face is swollen all to hell, dude."

Trying to remember only increased the headache, and Sabin leaned forward, convinced that his brain was two seconds from exploding out of his eye sockets. A comforting hand touched his shoulder.

"Guys, go take a walk," Lynn told Dutt and Lethal. They complied without an argument, leaving behind an awkward silence that now filled the room. Lynn seemed not to know how to word what he wanted to say, and began pacing, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his faded jeans. Sabin went to speak but stopped before a word was formed; a wave of nausea washed over him and he was tentative to open his mouth.

"I don't want you to beat yourself up over this," Lynn finally said after exhaling a deep breath. "What happened out there – it wasn't your fault."

Sabin frowned and immediately wished that he hadn't; the pain increased considerably and he put his head into his hands. He knew that what Lynn was saying would probably make more sense if he could remember what _had_ happened out there. But as he now touched his tender, swollen face, pieces of some rather _unpleasant _moments were beginning to come back to him.

"I pushed you too hard," Lynn continued. "Everything Nash was saying about and doing to the X-Division really struck a nerve with me, but unfortunately, these days, there's not much _I_ can do about it.

"But _you_ – and hell, it's no secret that you remind me a whole lot of me – and when you stepped up…" he trailed off, trying to reform his sentence. "I wanted so badly for you to beat him – for me to beat him _through_ you – and I ended up putting all of that pressure on your shoulders because nobody else could or would stand up to him. That wasn't fair on you."

The image of Lynn standing on the entrance ramp, watching with such overwhelming disappointment in his eyes was suddenly clear as day in Sabin's mind, and he felt his stomach drop. _I let him down_, he thought angrily. _After everything he's done for me, I let him down. Big time._

He now vividly remembered a conversation from two years ago, when Lynn, then captain of Team NWA in the 2004 World X Cup, had asked Sabin to take his place in the final round of the tournament: the Ultimate X match. It had been a huge honour and a tremendous opportunity for Sabin to show the wrestling world what he could do, that he was capable of such responsibility. And in that most dangerous of matches, he hadn't disappointed. Fighting off both Hector Garza – captain of Team Mexico – and Petey Williams – freshly-named captain of Team Canada – Sabin had swung his battered body across the fifteen-plus-foot high steel cables to claim the prize at their intersection and secure the win for his team.

The thought should have made him feel better, but instead he felt even more the failure. That day his challenge had been purely X-Division; it was a style that he had learned quickly and, in his love for it, was arguably dominant. Ultimate X was a match in which he had now competed an unprecedented seven times and had won three times. His second reign as X-Division champion had been cut short by injury, and many believed that, if not for that stroke of bad luck, he would still have been champion today.

But all of that now meant nothing. When the challenge had been issued outside of the X-Division, away from his comfort zone, he had been knocked back, beaten down and defeated. For all of his accomplishments, he was nothing more than a kid dreaming outside of his league.

Nash was right.

Size does matter.

Lynn was still talking but Sabin was no longer listening. The last thought hurt worse than the pain in his head or the aching of his swollen face. Now that he understood that he had just lost the match (and had evidently lost badly), he began to get angry.

The angrier he got, the more upset he became.

The more upset he became, the more his head throbbed.

The more his head throbbed, the more the nausea returned.

And the more the nausea returned…

"Calm down, kid, just take it easy. Take this. Wash your mouth out," Jerry instructed after Sabin finished being sick all over the locker room floor. He looked up at Lynn with glazed eyes and accepted the offered bottle of water. "My fault. It's the concussion. Don't worry about it. I shouldn't be telling you all this now, anyway."

_Telling me all what?_ Sabin wondered, genuinely confused, but when he tried to voice the question it came out slurred. Lynn just shook his head, patted him once on the back, and went to the door to let Dutt and Lethal back in. Quietly, he told them both to take Sabin back to the hotel and look after him; with so severe a concussion, it was in fact dangerous for him sleep. He would have to be woken up every couple of hours.

"And guys," Lynn glanced over his shoulder at Sabin, who was sitting, legs bent, with his forehead resting on his knees, "just keep an eye on him."

Lethal made a face. "It's not like he's in any shape to sneak off in the middle of the night, Jerry."

"I have a bad feeling," Lynn replied, absently scratching the back of his head.

Dutt raised an eyebrow as Lynn met his questioning stare. He opened his mouth to ask if it was an attack from Nash that the other was expecting, but stopped himself before a word was spoken. He knew as well as Lynn did that Nash wouldn't bother with Sabin again tonight; the next round would come when Sabin was healed enough to 'appreciate' the abuse. But if it wasn't Nash that Lynn was worried about, that meant it was some kind of veteran's intuition worrying him now. And that meant it was better not to ask questions.

"No worries, Jerry. We've got it covered."

Lynn nodded his thanks and then left to continue his duties and inform someone of the mess that needed cleaning in the locker room. Dutt and Lethal moved over to Sabin and slowly helped him to his feet, an arm draped around each of them in case he should black out again. When they got outside, Dutt stopped and cautiously looked around. There was nobody in sight.

"I'll bring the car around. Stay here with him. No point making him walk more than he has to."

Lethal readily agreed, not having been overly keen on the prospect of carrying Sabin across the parking lot. After helping his friend slowly sit on the pavement, he leaned back against the building, folded his arms and looked up into the night sky. The bright city lights would have made it difficult to see any stars in the best conditions, but dark, murky clouds were rolling in, blocking out everything save for the brilliant full moon. A sudden fluttering of wings made him look up at the roof in surprise; _Pigeons_, he figured, though he could have sworn the bird looked black, even considering the dimness.

"Jay?"

The sweet voice snapped Lethal out of his musings and he lowered his gaze to find Traci Brooks and SoCal Val watching him with big, doe-like eyes. He must have looked startled (they _had_ appeared out of nowhere, after all), for both women immediately became apologetic.

"Sorry. We didn't mean to bother you," Val said, twirling a lock of her radiant red hair around her finger.

"No!" Lethal stopped her, slapping on his most charming of smiles. _Startled I may be; stupid I am not_. "No worries. What can I do for you gorgeous ladies?"

Val giggled and Traci clasped her hands behind her back, giving him something to look at while she spoke. "We were wondering if you could give us a hand. Our car won't start, and it looks like it might start raining." They batted their eyelashes in unison.

Lethal's knees nearly gave out from under him, and he had to take extra care not to let his voice crack. "It would be my pleasure. Lead the way."

Val pointed a perfectly-manicured finger at Sabin. "What about him? Is he okay? He looked pretty nasty after the match."

"Yeah, but Sonjay's bringing the car over as we speak. He'll be fine for a couple minutes." Lethal hadn't even looked away. "Now, let's go see if I can't fix your problem."

The girls beamed at him and linked his arms in theirs, leading him away from Sabin, who sat motionless on the hard concrete. He didn't even react to Lethal's departure.

* * *

_Oh, Jay, you're the best!_

Sabin was only vaguely aware of other voices around him. He was close to blacking out and was desperately concentrating what little energy he had on not throwing up again. He silently wished the noises would stop, as all they were doing was worsening his already-agonizing headache. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, willing the stillness to prevail.

And then all was quiet.

Confused, he opened his eyes and peered around the parking lot. The last thing that he remembered clearly was talking – or trying to talk – to Jerry Lynn, and then tossing his cookies all over the floor. He _thought_ that he had left with Dutt and Lethal afterward, but how he had ended up on his own in the parking lot was a complete mystery to him.

"Poor boy. All alone. Nobody to care for him. We wouldn't do that to him, would we?"

"Not in a million years. But then, I do tend to spoil the cherished members of my deranged surrogate family, if only they would accept the rightful place to which they belong. Tell me: do you think that perhaps he is ready to reconsider the offer that you extended – the offer that he so ungratefully spurned?"

Sabin focused on the shadows that loomed over him; they seemed to have formed out of thin air, but so much was confusing him that he didn't bother to wonder at it. He could see Jackie's face clearly; her gaze held a sympathetic, motherly quality that seemed meant to console him while hiding her secret amusement at his situation, as if he had been victim to some cruel prank. She kneeled down and gently caressed his cheek.

"Are you ready to admit that you were wrong?"

Raven's face, in contrast, was almost entirely hidden by the darkness, save for his eyes. The meaningful glimmer that Sabin had seen during his match was still there, and he found himself once again unable to look away. Strange images began to float before his mind's eye: himself walking down the corridor backstage past both peers and veterans alike, all of them averting their gaze; him standing darkly in the centre of the ring looking down at a bloody and fallen Kevin Nash; his own body and face stained crimson as he raised the X-Division title high above his head. He could feel their respect mingled with unmistakable fear; he could taste sweet revenge; he fed off the pain that he had absorbed to achieve ultimate victory.

"Yes. I want that."

A delighted smile crawled across Jackie's beautiful face and Raven acknowledged the statement with the slightest of nods, barely noticeable but for the abrupt cessation of the prophetic gleam in his eyes. Jackie reached out to take Sabin's hands in hers, gently pulled him to his feet, and, together with Raven, led him into the welcoming cover of the shadowy night.


	4. Chapter 4

Jerry Lynn could feel the vein in his forehead pulsing dangerously close to the skin's surface and he forced himself to take a calming breath, counting backward from ten, before he spoke.

"What do you mean you _lost_ him?"

Dutt and Lethal exchanged a nervous glance. They had searched for Sabin for the better part of an hour before gathering what courage they could muster to go back inside and tell Lynn that, against his specific orders, they had let him out of their sight.

Needless to say, he was not taking the news well.

"I was only gone for, like, _five minutes_," Lethal insisted. "You saw him – he couldn't even walk by himself! But when I got back there was no sign of him! Maybe if _this guy_ hadn't taken forever…"

"So now it's _my_ fault?" Dutt blanched. "I couldn't get the car to start! I walked all the way back to tell you and you're both gone! What the hell did you leave him for anyway?"

Lethal looked uncomfortable and began to mumble. "I just thought…only for a second…and Traci and Val…" Dutt's jaw dropped but Lethal immediately jumped to the defensive. "They were having car trouble too! It took me all of _two seconds_ to fix – and when _else_ am I gone get the chance to chat them up? They barely ever look in my direction, never mind _talk_ to me!"

"And you didn't find that suspicious?" Lynn interjected. "Even after I warned you that something was wrong?" Both young men looked questioningly at him but he shook his head, opting not to elaborate, and tossed Dutt his keys. "Get my car. Maybe we're not too late yet."

Too late for what, he wasn't entirely certain. But, as Dutt and Lethal ran ahead of him, Jerry Lynn silently promised himself that, if anything had happened to Sabin, Traci and Val would be the first to be interrogated.

* * *

"Hey, did you hear about Sabin?"

"Yeah, dude just disappeared into thin air or something, and nobody's heard from him in over two weeks? Weird shit."

"No kidding."

"Lynn have you guys searching, too?"

"Tried to – threw out some bullshit that it could have been any of us—"

"—And will be if Nash gets his way? Yeah, he tried that one on me, too."

"Would it have killed you to look? I mean, it's not exactly like Sabin to go missing."

"He can stay missing, for all I care."

"Even if something's happened to him?"

"Oh please, he's run off with his tail between his legs, more like. The guy got what he had coming, the way he was provoking Nash."

"I wonder if you'll think the same thing when he targets you next."

The collection of X-Division competitors looked up at Lynn, who had appeared in the locker room doorway.

"Any luck, Jerry?" AJ Styles asked.

"Still no word," Lynn shook his head, his icy glare locked on Matt Bentley, who had made the offending comment. "Thank you to those who made an effort to help."

"Don't even _try_ the guilt trip," Bentley rolled his eyes as his partner, Frankie Kazarian, nodded his agreement. "Everyone here knows that, if it was me missing, Sabin wouldn't lift a finger to help. The guy has been a pain in my ass for years."

"Your petty reaction really doesn't surprise me, Matt," Christopher Daniels retorted. "You never _could_ handle the pressure of a true rival – somebody who would take you to the limit and help you both to emerge stronger." To accentuate his point, he motioned to Styles, who had been his arch-nemesis for some time, and whom he had faced in numerous epic battles. Recently they had united their strengths and had captured the NWA Tag Team Titles.

"I _am_ surprised at you, however, Petey," Daniels turned to the young Canadian star, as he had been on Bentley's side of the earlier argument.

"Why?" Williams scoffed.

"You and Sabin broke in together and have faced each other – what, about a million times? Give or take?" Styles followed his partner's train of thought. "And every single time y'all brought out the absolute best in one another. Why the hell would y'all want to lose that? Unless, of course, you're still sore over the World X Cup finals."

Williams leapt to his feet and crossed the locker room to stand toe-to-toe with Styles. "Wanna say that again, Backstreet Boy?" he snarled.

"With pleasure," Styles drawled in his Georgian accent. "Fact is: without Team Canada to 'watch your back'—" and here he used his fingers to make quotations, "—y'all can't match up to Sabin. And it's tearing you up."

A long tense moment followed. Williams' eyes burned with unquestioning hatred for Styles, both because of his arrogance and the fact that he could not think of a comeback. Styles' eyes, in turn, reinforced his victory with mocking sentiments. It took Jerry Lynn three attempts before they heard him telling them to back off.

"If I know Sabin as well as you all say I do, then I oughtta know that you're all worried over nothing," Williams snarled, still fuming as he sat down again. "The little Prima Donna is gonna walk through that door any second."

As if on cue, the door slowly swung open to allow Sabin to enter. Someone emitted a grunt of surprise; for a man with so severe a concussion that he had barely been able to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, the last time anybody had seen him, Sabin looked no worse for wear. Aside from dark circles under his eyes, he looked completely normal, freshly groomed, and walking under his own power.

"Nice of you to show up," Williams said before anyone else could speak. Still hot under the collar over Styles' remark, he leapt to his feet and stomped across the room until he was nose-to-nose with Sabin. "Now, if you're finished playing your little games with Nash, you and I have unfinished business to take care of. I want you, one-on-one, at No Surrender."

"Spend the next pay-per-view with my favourite dance partner?" Sabin smirked mischievously. His voice gave no indication whatsoever of any recent head injury: not one slurred word or stuttered syllable. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Williams took a moment to sneer over his shoulder at Styles before he turned back to Sabin, spit in his eye and then pushed his way out of the locker room.

Sabin nonchalantly wiped the offending fluid away and chuckled softly. "It's always good to see him in such a good mood."

"Speaking of which," Lynn began carefully, "you seem to be doing much better than the last time I saw you. Mind explaining what happened to you last Sunday and where you've been for the past two weeks?"

"Whoa, chill out, Jer-Bear," Sabin held up his hands submissively. "What's with the third-degree?"

"Chris, you dropped off the face of the Earth after Hard Justice," Styles spoke on Lynn's behalf. "We were worried about you – worried something might have happened to you."

"Well, _clearly_," Sabin returned condescendingly, "I'm fine."

"What's gotten into you?" Lynn demanded.

"I don't like people up in my face, old man, that's what."

Daniels had had enough. "Show some gratitude, you little punk. Jerry pretty much nursed you back to life after Nash rattled that tiny brain of yours, and this is how you repay him?"

"I don't remember you being a _peach_ to be around after Joe turned your brains to mush back in November," Sabin shot back, referring to Genesis 2005.

"Well, I sure as hell didn't behave like a spoiled little shit."

Styles kept his mouth shut.

"You know, as much fun as this has been – and don't get me wrong, I enjoy being bitched out by a bunch of washed-up, old has-beens as much as the next guy," Sabin rolled his eyes, "but I have far better things to be doing with my time. So, if you'll excuse me…"

As he turned to go, Lynn roughly grabbed his arm and forced him back around. He had fully intended to lay into Sabin with a verbal beat-down, but one look at Sabin's eyes caused the words to evaporate before they could even form on his tongue.

The kid had a very real anger inside what used to be his signature pair of innocent baby blues. The colour had intensified; a steely blue now accented the piercing glare that he'd fixed on his former mentor. They flashed with an enraged darkness full of cruelty, malice and spite. If the eyes were the window to the soul, then Sabin's was locked in fiery damnation, wishing its fate upon all others.

Taken aback by what he saw, Lynn released his protégé's arm and backed away, his face a mix of disbelief, shock and weary suspicion. Who was this young man standing before him?

"What the hell was all that about?" Daniels raised an eyebrow after Sabin, who left after one last, long, cutting stare at Lynn.

"It's just like I told you," Bentley, who had been silent for some time, said after Lynn offered no response. "Same old pain in the ass. Same old Sabin."

"I'm not so sure," Lynn muttered quietly.

* * *

News and gossip of Sabin's attitude spread like wildfire amongst the roster; to no great surprise, the truth became exaggerated and spawned half-truths that were even more exaggerated. Williams spitting in Sabin's eye became Sabin spitting in Lynn's eye. Daniels and Sabin exchanging insults became Daniels and Sabin exchanging punches. Lynn grabbing Sabin's arm became Lynn grabbing Sabin's shirt to slam him against the wall. And Sabin's burning Death Glare became uttered death threats.

While the incident continued to be blown out of proportion, people developed their own opinions over what it all meant. Several, like Styles, sought to give Sabin the benefit of the doubt but were nevertheless shocked at his behavior. Many, like Daniels, were outright enraged by the lack of respect he had shown. More than a few, like Williams and Bentley, were vocally irritated by his arrogance and insisted that he was now showing the true colours that they'd always known he'd had.

Only Lynn was convinced that something was seriously wrong.

Sabin continued to refuse to give any explanation of his whereabouts during his two-week absence. The mere mention of the topic would test his now-substantially shorter temper; he had nearly attacked Dutt and Lethal when they had asked upon bumping into him backstage the night of his surprise return.

In the days leading up to the pay-per-view, Sabin became even more secretive. Phone calls were cut short when anyone approached. He regularly ducked away from crowds to sneak off by himself; the one time Lethal and Dutt had been able to follow, he had been engaged in a hushed and hurried conversation with somebody standing in the shadows. And it was not uncommon for him to glaze over as if deep in thought or intently listening to a voice that nobody else could hear.

By the time No Surrender was gearing up to begin, Sabin versus Williams was the talk of the town. Everyone from ring crew to wrestlers, security guards to the fans themselves had noticed the peculiar change in Sabin. It was apparent in his mannerisms, the way he spoke, his ring attire and the level of his intensity in matches. There was an undeniable sneer on his face and in his voice. He had swapped his usual black trunks for a pair of acid-washed long jean cutoffs. And while he had always given his all in the ring, he now fought with a clear and present viciousness.

All of it was driving Williams up the wall, and he spent a good deal of his time before the show loudly proclaiming to anybody who would listen that he intended to 'beat the snot-nosed smirk off of Sabin's ugly, obnoxious face.'

Alex Shelley was finding it all _most_ disconcerting.

Not that he minded Sabin and Williams being the centre of attention; so long as people were focused on them, he was free to operate under the radar for a little while longer. He still needed time to ensure that there was no possible way for anybody to foil his meticulously-constructed master plan, so anything that diverted suspicion from him was definitely welcome.

And it certainly wasn't Sabin's change in attitude that worried Shelley. In fact, he found himself admiring his old foe for it. He would have expected _anybody_ to be just as angry after being as humiliated as Sabin had been, but the hateful new demeanor, the disillusion with the prehistoric code of respect, was so decidedly un-Sabin – so _deliciously_ un-Mr-Goody-Two-Shoes-Boy-Wonder-Captain-of-Team-USA-2006 – that Shelley almost wanted to congratulate him on finally seeing the light.

Almost.

What was bothering Shelley was the serious _lack_ of thirst for vengeance Sabin had on display. He had counted on a dynamic return and an adamant demand for a rematch with Nash, but Sabin had yet to cast so much as a dirty look at Shelley, Devine or the big man. To return as quietly as he had, inadvertently cause a stir by clashing with _allies_, and then proceed to accept a challenge from Petey Williams, who'd had no connection to his injury – quite frankly: none of it made any sense. None of it fit the expectations. None of it followed the logical steps one took when returning from being deliberately taken out of the game.

All of it made Shelley very nervous.

But he had come too far, planned much too carefully, for anyone to be allowed to ruin things now. If Sabin insisted on being an anomaly, then he would simply have to be monitored – _at all times_ – until his true intentions were clear.

That _was_ the point of keeping Devine around, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Sabin sucked his lower lip into his mouth and swallowed the blood that trickled out of where it had been split open.

The match had been ruthless from the opening bell and didn't look to become any less violent any time soon. There had been no feeling-out process; Sabin and Williams knew each other too well to bother with such things. Instead, Williams had attacked with relentless aggression until he had landed the dropkick that had busted Sabin open and sent him tumbling out of the ring.

The crowd in the _Impact Zone_ roared in approval at the fast-paced action before breaking into their familiar warring chant of, "_Let's go, Sabin! _**Let's go, Petey!**"

With his adrenaline pumping, Williams waited until Sabin got to his feet and then launched himself over the top rope to land squarely on Sabin's shoulders and snap backward into a hurricanrana. Williams did not waste time following up and Sabin had no chance to catch his breath before the former captain of Team Canada dragged him to his feet and smashed his face into the steel ring post, widening the gash in his lip.

Hot blood now flowed freely down Sabin's chin and neck and he reached out to steady himself against the post. His movements were strangely cool and unhurried, as though he was biding his time, even when fireworks exploded behind his eyeballs as Williams grabbed a fistful of his scruffy, short hair and yanked his head back.

"If your brains weren't scrambled before," Williams hissed in his ear, "they sure as hell will be when I'm through with you."

But as Williams made to slam his face again, Sabin locked his arms to brace himself against the ring post and then caught his adversary with a back elbow to the chest. The blow was enough to make Williams release his grip but lacked the leverage to do any serious damage. Sabin received a punch to the back of the head before he was rolled into the ring.

Williams pulled Sabin to his feet again while looking around for an idea on how to inflict even more punishment. Using all of his strength, he whipped Sabin hard into the turnbuckle. Sabin's back cracked at the point of impact, sending a sharp pain up and down his spine. He lay draped across the ropes as Williams charged him, likely looking for a corner splash or a driving elbow.

That is, he would have been looking for one of these moves had Sabin not planted one foot and spun around, landing the stiffest of mule kicks in Williams' exposed abdomen.

_The old possum technique. Works every time._

Sabin began to dominate, finally hanging Williams upside down from one of the turnbuckles and backing into the opposite corner. At the very edge of his peripheral vision he spotted movement at the top of the far entrance ramp: Lynn, Dutt and Lethal had come out to watch. Instinctively, he checked the other entrance and saw Shelley and Devine taking notes for Nash like the good little minions they were.

_Good_, Sabin thought. _I love a nice, full audience.

* * *

_

Shelley didn't visibly react when Sabin made brief eye contact with him, but something in the look made the little hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

"Is it just me," he asked aloud as Sabin raced across the ring, jumped and seemed to hover for a moment in mid-air before driving both feet squarely into Williams' jaw, "or did that Hesitation Dropkick seem way more—" he paused, searching for the right word.

"Savage?" Devine offered.

"—than usual?" Shelley nodded, absently scratching the stubble on his neck.

"Doubt it's just you, dude," Devine half-chuckled, indicating Williams, who was clutching his chin, pain clearly written all over his face.

"Touché. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's fighting like—"

* * *

"—he wants to hurt him."

Dutt and Lethal turned as one to regard Lynn, who wore a more-than-troubled expression.

"That's nuts," Lethal said. "Sure, he's been pissy lately, but Chris would never play to put someone out."

"Unlike some people," Dutt muttered, catching sight of Shelley and Devine on the opposite ramp.

"Not even Petey," Lethal added as an afterthought, only half-kidding.

Lynn wasn't listening to either of them, however, and nor was he watching the match. A creeping chill had spread through his body and he had unconsciously shifted his gaze to the left. There, in the darkest corner at the top of the fan-packed stands, two still figures stood overlooking the violent encounter in the ring. They were silent and discrete, barely moving the muscles it took to breathe. If not for the chance look in their direction, Lynn never would have known they were there.

Raven and Jackie Gayda.

The other two X-Division stars, suspicious of his sudden silence, followed his line of sight, and Dutt voiced Lynn's exact thoughts:

"What the hell are they doing here?"

* * *

Sabin was relishing all the attention he was receiving as he slowly and methodically picked Petey Williams apart.

As much as the advantage had swayed to favour Sabin, however, Williams was refusing to go down without fighting every step of the way. For everything that was thrown at him, he had a counter-move in his repertoire. Unfortunately for him, as the match had progressed, the success rate of his reversals had steadily lessened. Sabin clearly had him figured out and was consistently staying two steps ahead.

Finally, Williams shifted his body weight in mid-air and turned Sabin's attempted tilt-a-whirl backbreaker into a flawless side-Russian leg sweep. With his opponent supine on the mat, Williams scaled the turnbuckle and waited for the ideal moment to strike. And as Sabin staggered to his feet, he went airborne, looking for a cross-body press.

Sabin's reaction time was impeccable. Stepping into the attack, he caught Williams on his shoulders, crossed his captive's ankles and drove him down into the canvas with a bone-crushing Cradle Shock.

The rest was academic.

With the cheers of appreciative fans ringing in his ears, Sabin cast a smug look at Shelley before rolling out of the ring and heading up toward Lynn, Dutt and Lethal. Then a sudden strange feeling came over him then, and he stopped and looked up into the stands.

Raven and Jackie were descending to the ringside area, their sights locked on Sabin, whose face now sported a curious look of hope, like a child seeking approval. Lynn, Dutt and Lethal were forgotten.

"Chris?" Lethal began, but Jackie stepped in front of him, blocking the path to his friend. The young X-star briefly considered pushing his way past her; something about the present situation was definitely not right.

Raven reached Sabin and spoke softly so that only he could hear: "Always finish what you begin."

Sabin looked confused. "It _is_ finished. He didn't even try to kick out."

Raven pointed to the ring, where Williams was slowly sitting up. "He's still moving. It's _not_ finished."

Sabin stared at him in disbelief as he realized what Raven was commanding him to do. It felt unnecessary; he had increased his match intensity, had never let up once, and had beaten Williams cleanly. He had done everything Raven had asked of him. This had never been part of the bargain.

Raven saw the conflict on Sabin's face and grabbed the young man's arm, steering him back to the ring. Tearing back the skirting, he reached underneath and pulled out a steel chair.

"Do it!" he ordered, loud enough now for everyone to hear, as he thrust the chair into Sabin's hands. "Finish it!"

Sabin looked down at the weapon he now held and climbed back through the ropes. Williams was still dazed and had yet to realize what was happening. Sabin gripped the chair so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white. He held his breath, preparing himself for what he had to do…

…but just as quickly released the air from his lungs and turned back to Raven, frustration evident in his voice. "I can't."

"Pathetic," Raven spat. "Jackie told me that you had potential. She insisted that, with the proper guidance, you were destined to achieve a greatness to which most of these insignificant peons could never even dare to aspire. Yet it seems that I should thank _you_ for enlightening _me_ to the fact that you are nothing more than another of their number.

"Is it any wonder that you danced so willingly into Kevin Nash's waiting clutches?" he mused cruelly. "You'll never be strong enough to free yourself of these obsolete morals that keep you from doing what you must. I should have left you to rot in the gutter where I found you."

The words struck home. Sabin felt his blood boiling in his veins, and the soulless, spiteful glint returned to his eyes. With an enraged howl, he rounded on Williams, who was just now on his feet, and smashed the unforgiving steel into the top of his head. With a sickening _crack!_ Williams' eyes glazed over and rolled back in their sockets. Somehow he remained upright, but that would not be for long as Sabin swung again, this time from the side like a baseball bat, and caught him solidly across the ear.

Lynn, Dutt and Lethal were on their horses; sprinting past Jackie and Raven, they raced to Williams' aid but were not fast enough to stop Sabin's figurative Deathblow. With an anger that had become terrifyingly calm, he laid the chair on the mat, hoisted Williams back up to his shoulders and delivered a second Cradle Shock, driving his rival's head, neck and shoulders into unyielding steel.

Dutt and Lethal were on top of him then, and they ripped him away from Williams. Lynn was immediately at the young Canadian's side, yelling in his ear for him to talk and trying to keep him from blacking out. Sabin could hear Lethal ordering him to back off and Dutt demanding to know what was wrong with him, but he tuned them out. Every muscle was tensed, both eyes locked on Williams, like a crazed wild dog waiting for an opening to strike again at his fallen prey.

"Enough."

One voice broke through, and Sabin turned to face Raven, who couldn't have looked more proud if he had tried. Jackie beamed at his side.

"That's enough. The message has been sent."

* * *

Truer words were never spoken, and Shelley in particular had heard the message loud and clear. And yet, as he and Devine turned tail, keeping up the façade of scouting on Nash's behalf, a distinct sense of relief washed over him.

Sabin's recent behavior made infinitely more sense now that Raven was revealed as the driving force behind his actions. Granted, it was an unforeseen complication; Raven was well-known for his mind games and ingenious schemes, and as such had been one of Shelley's main inspirations. But now he at least knew with what he was dealing.

* * *

Sabin turned back to Dutt and Lethal, both of whom had their guard up, and set them with a cold, uncaring stare. "Later, _dudes_," he drawled mockingly and then smoothly slid through the ropes to join Raven and Jackie. Dutt and Lethal watched them go before darting to Lynn's side.

"The _hell's_ gotten into him?" Dutt spat, absolutely livid over what he'd witnessed. Lethal had no words; his wide-eyed gaze searched Lynn's face for an explanation.

"Something I've seen far too often," Lynn replied without looking up. He was still hunched over Williams, waving his hand to urgently signal for the medical staff.

"Raven's creating monsters again."

**End of Act One**


End file.
